


The Better to See You, My Boy

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Red Riding Hood Elements, a company of wolves, allusion to Angela Carter, fairytale, imagine clint/coulson tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10019837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: For the Imagine Clint/Coulson tumblr prompt:  Classic fairytale of your choice C/C.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had just finished teaching Angela Carter's "A Company of Wolves," a feminist retelling of Little Red Riding Hood when I saw this prompt. With apologies to her great story, I decided to try my hand at something similar.

 

Once upon a time, before the land was paved and the skyscrapers grew, before cars filled the air with smog and trains rumbled under the earth, the people lived simply in huts with thatched roofs and packed earth for a floor.  They raised their own food, dug deep wells for water, and squirreled away enough to survive the cold of winter.  Clustered together, small villages hid beneath the eaves of ancient trees, the light from their windows pushing back the creeping darkness of the forest.  

The woods were dangerous;  everyone knew the stories of what lay between those twisted boles, paths that circled and went nowhere and hungry eyes that followed each step.  Fangs and claws that ripped and rent clothes and flesh, maws that gaped and slathered in anticipation.  Creatures that lured young and old to their deaths with promises of a different life. Chickens went missing, sometimes a calf disappeared, once a small child was snatched from his yard.

And then there were the whispers of something else. The carcass of a wolf left hanging over night only to find a man in its place in the morning.  Empty houses with doors thrown open and hair left in the fireplace. Howls that echoed and cries that haunted all who heard. 

It happened one day that a young orphan, just into his manhood, set out to find his own way. He had nothing to stay for, his brother long gone two years hence and his foster parents well ready to be rid of the extra mouth to feed.  Adventure beckoned for a man with his skills and, despite his fresh face and innocence about the world, he was eager to test his mettle, the small town stifling to him.  So he gathered up his only possessions, a bow he’d made himself from the finest yew, a quarrel of arrows, a small knife, and a worn purple traveling cloak, a hand-me-down from the local minister.  As he left, the long-suffering wife heaved a sigh of relief and gave him a small basket with bread, a lump of cheese, and some fruit, enough to last two days on the trail. 

He was careful at first, determined to stop to say goodbye to the old midwife, the only one who watched out for him and who taught him bits of magic and herbal recipes. But all too soon his attention wandered, as young men’s will, to thoughts of sinewy flesh and dewy cheeks, stolen kisses and soft touches. For he was a virgin in both spirit and flesh, neither tried nor tested when it came to matters of pleasure. Despite the time spent dreaming of a lover, he’d never known another’s caress. 

In his revere, he missed the signs: the footprints on the trail, the disturbance of the earth, the quiet of the Duenna’s yard.  Only after he opened the door and entered to he realized the fire burned too brightly, see the unmade bed, notice the empty rocker.  By then, it was too late; the door slammed behind him and he saw the man leaning against the wall. A gleam in the blue eyes, a quirk of smile, long lean body clothed in fine linen like a gentleman.  

“And what do we have here?” the man asked, voice a silky purr that stroked the senses. “So young and smelling so delicious.” 

“What big eyes you have,” he said, trapped in the depths of color. 

“The better to see all of you,” the man replied, stepped closer and surveying every inch of quivering body. 

“What big hands you have,” was all he could say, hypnotized as fingers slipped around the handle of the basket, took his quiver and slipped his knife from its sheath. 

“The better the feel you with,” the man replied, untying pant laces with ease. 

“What a big … mouth you have,” was his only answer as the man’s lips parted and he leaned in, sniffing his way along the curve of the neck. 

“The better to eat you with, my dear.” 

The first kiss shattered his illusions, the second altered his mind, the third freed his body, and the fourth laid him bare. 

Friction kindled a spark, touch added heat, groans fanned the flames. 

He stopped breathing the air, quit touching the ground, gave up all pretenses and parted his legs to open himself to something new. 

In the morning, two wolves left the hut, trotting together, a quiver wrapped around one’s waist and a bow in the other’s teeth.  The purple hooded man never returned to that town; they all thought him lost when his basket and knife were found along with the bones of the old woman. 

In a city, in a fine house with servants, where important people came and went, Gentleman Phil Coulson and his ward Clint Barton held court as the years went by, moving as needed, leaving their mark upon the world. 


End file.
